Before leaving, I found the "taxidermist" and two guys with fresh bruises on their knuckles and stuffed their mouths with tiny (the size of a poppy seed) balls of a poison that could cause a pale toadstool to turn blue with envy. In the next couple of days I guaranteed them an unforgettable experience. Would the healers be able to help them? I didn't care. As a trophy, I pulled an elaborate earring out of the "taxidermist's" ear and ran home.
From a distance I saw police cars rushing to the warehouse. They didn't use horses: either the capital's police was rich or they did not have enough water for the animals. I ran and strolled, sometimes carrying my dog in my hands. I used up all my non-magical methods of putting the predator off my track. Several times I took cabs and rickshaws, letting Max sit next to me, then run behind. Perhaps, we crossed the entire northern part of the city three times. Along the way, I got rid of my gown, old boots, leftovers of the potions, and all other incriminating items and, tired but with a sense of accomplishment, Max and I entered the gate to our building.
The sky brightened in the east. An army magician fumbled near my motorcycle: he laid out on the path his homemade amulets, hoping to neutralize my security spells. I almost rushed to him to challenge the thief to a duel, but I came to my senses in time: I didn't want to sacrifice the success of my blood feud for my motorcycle. I was hoping that nothing would come out of this guy's attempts, and soon a loud alarm confirmed my expectations. It was time to go to bed.
Chapter 12
For the rest of the morning I slept like a baby, and no nightmares tortured me. Ho-Carg seemed to be too big and disordered for a minor accident in the ill-fated warehouse to agitate the city. It never occurred to me that gossip in the capital spread even faster than in a Krauhard village (phones are evil) and, unlike journalists, gossipers did not bear any responsibility for their words.
I happily missed the first wave of panic that raged before the release of the morning newspapers. A purring doorbell and persistent knocking on the door woke me up. Mr. Felister and some unfamiliar clerk stood behind the door; their faces instantly blossomed with moronic smiles at the sight of my grim personage. Max poked his nose at his welcoming guests, but I held him off with my hip: yesterday I did not have the patience to comb the zombie, who knew what crammed into his hair at the artisans' lair.
"How are you, Mr. Tangor?" the senior curator almost sang. "Unfortunately, yesterday Dennis didn't feel well…"
"I also felt sick."
"Oh! I'm sorry to hear that. Would you like me to call a healer for you now?"
"No thanks."
I shut the door in front of them and went back to bed. Alas, my sleep did not want to come back. I hated any and everyone. The clock on the ministry building struck twelve p.m. I recalled that I did not take a bath before going to bed yesterday and decided to visit the bathhouse and the dining room, and to celebrate the successful completion of my vengeance.
The hotel's yard was unusually crowded: a dozen gloomy figures wandered in circles, ignoring the afternoon heat. Army mages gathered together and listened to the instructions of a tough gray sorcerer; nobody fussed around my motorcycle, and I thought I could relax for a bit.
There was only one client in the bathhouse except me: Larkes patiently waited for me in the pool. "How are you?"
Instead of replying, I plunged into the pool with a running start. Larkes calmly endured a splash of water.
"Strange things happened in our town yesterday," he said without a hint of emotion.
"Really?"
"The chief of the city police managed to surprise his higher-ups."
"Really?"
"Decisive actions of the police," his face shuddered incomprehensibly, "prevented a coup, or at least big trouble. Our brave men armed with shields and batons tied up all the conspiracy leaders in a more or less alive condition at some secret place. For the city authorities the incident became an unpleasant surprise. A grandson of the police chief was kept as a hostage at the same secret location."
"The relative of the police chief is white?" I did not believe him.
Larkes pretended he did not notice my slip of the tongue.
"His younger son married an empath. And guess what was most interesting? It all happened thanks to an anonymous tip-off."
"It's a miracle!" I answered diplomatically.
"The townsfolk," Larkes' face expressed grim obsession (or maybe it was his smile?), "are gossiping about a new organization of assassins whose goal is to liquidate artisans. The name of the group has the word 'chaos' in it."
"Oh my God…"
"Ostensibly, this group recruits only ordinary people, whose relatives were victims of artisans, and after several years of brutal drilling these militants can bring down any magician at once, leaving no trace. They mark their victims with orange powder."
I regretted that I had started this conversation.
"And no later than yesterday," he continued, "a detachment of fierce avengers attacked one of the artisans in the center of the city, driving the poor man to total insanity. A wave of arrests swept the city. Tons of banned weapons have been seized. Guests of NZAMIPS - especially dark mages - are advised not to leave the ministry's territory; there is a rumor that artisans are readying a counter-attack."
"Do you know who that anonymous informer was?" I asked cautiously.
"I don't have a clue! How about you?"
"The same. No idea."
"May I ask you for a small favor?" Larkes sighed.
"Yes, of course."
"Do not leave your room until the noise subsides. I will try to speed up your departure to Arango."
"No problem!"
"It's funny," Larkes muttered, "it took you less than ten days to find the headquarters of rebels. My colleagues chased them for two years. How did you accomplish this?"
It was useless to try to portray my innocence to him. "I did not care about these headquarters! You were with me, and you know - I wanted to find an enemy who ordered the killing of my uncle."
Larkes snorted incredulously: "They say, some magicians hear the Voice of Destiny and execute the Supreme Will. I guess you are one of them, and now I see why Satal is still at the helm."
"What's wrong about him?" I took offense for my teacher.
"Nothing. He is a 'cleaner' to the bone, organically unfit for teamwork. He was promoted to the position of senior coordinator for his ability to strictly follow orders. Our higher-ups believed that with growing covert activity around Redstone it would be important to have a leader who would not yield to provocations."
"But it wasn't him who hired Grokk (rest in peace, officer) as the chief of the 'cleaners'," I chuckled.
"No, it wasn't him," Larkes sighed. "Let's go for a bite?"
I did not mind, but I noted that Larkes gracefully refused to listen to my criticism of his precious self. I saw why things became so messy in Redstone: for a number of years the region was led by this analyst-theorist. The "cleaner" Satal was a better fit to rule NZAMIPS than this nerd!
At least Redstone had NZAMIPS. I was curious to see what Arango looked like now - the region that lived without NZAMIPS supervision for five years.
After lunch Larkes accompanied me to my hotel. At first, I did not understand why he wanted other people to see us together. It turned out that this egghead foresaw subsequent events better than me. I did not realize that army magicians from my hotel, being forbidden to leave the yard, paid all their attention to my motorcycle and zombie, and my modest person stood in their way.
Three combat mages waited for me at the gate; their faces promised nothing good to me. I tried to bypass them, but they immediately reshuffled, firmly blocking my way. I stopped and asked, "What the hell do you want?"
A mage in the rank of lieutenant replied, "Let's talk."
"No time for that!"
"You'll have to!"
I am brave, I am very brave, but there were three army mages against me. I thought for a moment if Larkes was worth anything, an
d disregarded this nerd's help. "Gentlemen, get ahold of yourselves! Such behavior on the territory of the ministry…" - talk of the devil, and he is sure to appear. It was Larkes, and now I had to defend him, too!
The army mages put up their shields in sync, readying for a confrontation. Suddenly I felt that Larkes also called his Source. The power of his channel was so-so, but the quality of his weaving…He tossed out a curse from his palms as a gray haze, and the shields of the bullies simply folded.
"Gentlemen!" Larkes raised his voice. "I repeat, pull yourself together! Violators of my order will be punished by a demotion in rank and a fine of two monthly salaries!"
I did not know what was more convincing: the unexpected fiasco, the threat of demotion, or the possibility of losing the money the dark were always short of, but the combat mages decided to listen to the voice of reason. They stepped aside, breathing threateningly, and let us pass.
I was shocked; "Why didn't you use your power against me, if you are so cool?"
He made an arrogant face, but smugness shone through it. "I always find a way to come to an agreement without resorting to a fist fight."
"But this is boring!"
"My parents were normal people and taught me a multitude of other ways to have fun."
So, he was a magician in the first generation. It happened sometimes. I shook my head in sympathy, "I understand you, man; my mother married a white guy. Can you imagine that? This will sound odd to you, but I still like helping people!"
Larkes habitually twitched his face and did not comment.
I honestly tried to keep my promise to Larkes to stay at home. My patience lasted for two days; even books that Dennis brought from the metropolitan libraries helped no longer. I was strongly drawn to bullying. For example, I wanted to adjust the security amulets on my motorcycle to sound infinitely; the army mages would have to go to me every time and ask me to stop that howling, and I would scoff at them. I had to let the steam out; otherwise, the consequences could be unpredictable.
I chose a compromise: I broke my promise but for a good reason - I went to see Hemalis to check if he knew that his enemy was arrested. Though dark mages were strongly discouraged to leave the ministry's territory, nobody set any magical barriers or cordons around the hotel; the only vehicles were removed from the parking lot. And it worked better than building a fortress wall: the dark were too lazy to walk a mile on foot to the central avenue. They preferred to spoil each other's nerves in the hotel yard. Naturally, such primitive methods did not work with me, a necromancer from Krauhard. I went out through the main gate, walked down the hill, and ten minutes later was on a busy street. Neither the first, nor the second carriage driver wanted to take me to the plague block; the third one refused, too, but I became agitated, and he agreed to a double pay.
Ho-Carg subtly changed since the rebel's arrest: it became quieter, dejected, and less metropolitan. Military patrols baked in the heat, wandering here and there, and barricades of sandbags, wooden shields, and protective signs grew at the police stations and government agencies. I saw no children around.
I looked at the awakening of the streets from the daily torpor and thought I would retain the capital city in my memory as fussing and worrying. I recalled that Ho-Carg was known for its gourmet wine, famous strip dancers, and theaters, and I would have nothing to tell Quarters if I didn't urgently fix this situation while I was still in town.
Maitre Kebersen Street was empty except for two burly movers in uniform who carried furniture to a huge cargo van near the Hemalis building. I went up to the fourth floor and realized that it was Hemalis who was moving out.
"Mr. Tangor!" the old man started. "Sorry for this mess! Would you like a cup of tea?"
It was impossible to convince him that I did not want tea. Five minutes later we were sitting in the kitchen and having a cold drink with a citrus smell. Almost all of Hemalis' belongings were packed in bales and baskets.
"I am moving out!" the white beamed. "I am so grateful to you, so grateful! How can I thank you for your courageous act?"
Actually, I came in to hand him a trophy earring from his enemy's body, but now I thought that such a gift would frighten the poor man to death. "No problem, it wasn't a big deal. I just wanted to ask why you waited for so long with the book. Fifteen years passed before you started acting and sent the Word to Uncle Gordon."
He sighed sadly, "I was afraid of the people who killed your father. If your dad, a powerful magician, was murdered, imagine what they would have done to me! They would have crushed me with one finger if I had stood out."
"What did you say?" a frightened Hemalis shrank, and I told myself to slow my pitch.
"Oh…you did not know that your father was killed?"
I stood up, feeling myself a fool: up until now, my family and friends were telling me that my father's death was due to a failed curse. Their former slips of the tongue and oddities came together in my mind, snapping in place.
"Why then…" the world reeled and plunged into a bloody mist; an unaddressed hot wave of hatred rose up inside me. My agitated Source struggled to find the target; Rustle woke up inopportunely with his curiosity, and I threw my rage at the monster. The searing touch of his magic sobered me.
When my hatred had subsided a bit, I started analyzing a reason for it and realized it was not about my father - I did not remember him. I did not know him well: my mother and Joe had managed to make my memories about my dad completely sterile. The personality of Toder Tangor didn't overshadow my life. The reason for my anger was not grief, but a realization that many of my problems had names attached to them.
The old man looked at me, frightened by the raging necromancer. I smiled encouragingly – I didn't want him to develop a heart attack on my watch. "Why have I learned the truth about my father's death only now?"
Words gushed out of Hemalis: "A dark child who has lost a parent cannot control his Source. As I heard, the only way to avoid this is to convince the child that the deceased relative simply did not exist. It is very difficult to accomplish, especially if the deceased is well-known. Your mother moved from Finkaun, where your father was killed, to a place where no one paid attention to yet another dark orphan. Millicent has always been a very strong woman! She met Jonathan there; as an empath, he consulted you when you were a kid. If Gordon had not written to me, I wouldn't have known where your family settled. But they should have told you about your dad after your Empowerment."
I remembered my mother's 'shushing' Chief Harlik. Uh-huh. They should have told me. I was lucky that I did not learn the truth from someone less tactful than Hemalis - for example, from Salaris in Mihandrov.
"Come on, give me more detail! Who killed him, how, why…"
"I really do not know," the old man whined. "He was alone when his curse went out of control; nothing remained from his body, not even the ashes. The police found the tip of a crossbow bolt at his deathbed. Rumor was he was already dead when his sorcery was disrupted."
I stopped begging him to continue: it was unlikely that he knew more. I had other friends who could answer my questions.
"Okay, let's move on. The past is past, and I'll talk with Mom and Joe. Conspirators, Rustle take them! I brought a few books as a present; maybe one day they will come in handy."
The white mage looked with suspicion at the bundle tied with twine in my hands. These were NZAMIPS brochures on magic safety. My Krauhardian greediness did not allow me to throw them out; their print quality was enviable (perhaps, to lure the "cleaners" into carrying them). Maybe Hemalis would find somebody who needed such garbage?
"Thanks," the bookseller said doubtfully. And we parted on that note.
* * *
Dennis' charge was the only dark mage who had disdained the authorities' advice to stay at home and went to the city; all other visiting darks showed obedience. Dennis broke into a cold sweat thinking of what could have happened to him if his charge had been killed. The northerner needed to be removed from the c
ity immediately. Unfortunately, Arango's newly created NZAMIPS didn't respond to the ministry's request to admit Tangor, and letting the necromancer go there without an escort would mean risking his life.
Luckily, a group of army mages dropped by the ministry on their way back to the border with Kashtadar. "Tangor will be sent to Arango with them," Dennis said to himself, watching how a demonic fire started burning in Mr. Felister's eyes when his boss heard this news.
Dennis somewhat regretted the imminent parting with his first ward. The curator was not opposed to continuing this acquaintance; he wouldn't mind going with the magician anywhere where Mr. Tangor needed for his secretive and, undoubtedly, great deeds, but…Dennis worried over his elderly mother, his grandfather - who recently celebrated his one hundredth birthday and yet declined to move in with his relatives, his sister - graduating from the metropolitan academy, and his nephew - who lately applied to study there. He could not leave his family without his supervision at this busy time. 'We'll meet on his way back. Maybe I will move north along with him.'
Chapter 13
"What does Larkes think of himself, pushing my student to work for him?!" Satal couldn't calm down despite a long talk with the empath.
Ms. Kevinahari sighed loudly.
"Tangor works in my region! It's unthinkable that Larkes assigned him to a job over my head!"
Captain Baer quietly sat in a chair by the door and tried to stay invisible - it was difficult to achieve this with his dimensions. In a sense, he caused Satal's violent reaction. But Baer did not feel himself responsible for the rage of his chief, which lasted almost an entire week. He was surprised that the senior coordinator reacted so painfully to a breach of subordination.
The unfortunate bell rang out on Monday morning. Given the six-hour time difference, the captain assumed that Larkes' need to converse arose abruptly, in the middle of the day.
"Hello my friend, it's me again," the voice of his former boss sounded lifeless and dull, but sincere.
My Path to Magic 2: A Combat Alchemist Page 12
